Face Paint
by NexusFaye
Summary: Affection may not be the same across cultures, but Shepard can certainly try, can't she? Special thanks to theherocomplex for being a fantastic beta!


"Shepard, I almost don't want to ask what you're doing." Garrus finished tying the towel around his waist, water droplets still running down his arms and carapace. Shepard sat at the coffee table with her back to the fish tank, hair tinted by the aquarium light as it covered the side of her face.

"That's a shame because I've been working on this since the second the water started, and you and I both know that next to Miranda, you take the longest showers." Shepard only glanced towards Garrus, mouth drawn into a smirk.

He leaned against the fish tank with one shoulder, being careful not to disturb the fish inhabiting it. "Then I will ask for the sake of your _exceptional_ effort: what exactly are you doing?"

She was silent before turning around on her knees, fingers stained blue as they gestured at her face, a grin plastered across her lips. "A _masterpiece_, Garrus."

He blinked, dumbfounded as he tried to grasp what he was supposed to be looking at. He could be wrong, but the streaks of paint across her cheeks seemed vaguely familiar. "Are those my face tattoos?" He finally asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

She flushed slightly, "I, ah… yeah." She met eyes with Garrus, helpless as she silently pleaded for him to have mercy on her failed attempt of imitation. Her answer just confused Garrus even more. He knew that she knew the significance of facial tattoos in turian culture, so the fact that she tried to do it herself could be interpreted as offensive, flattering, or even pathetic. He didn't really feel any of the three, however, leaving them to stare at each other in wait for something to happen.

"Look, I know it's kind of a bold gesture—a really bold gesture, actually—so I understand if this is moving too fast for you." She lost eye contact as she began rubbing the paint off with the back of her hand.

He immediately grabbed for her wrist, "You mean _us_ moving too fast?" He gently pulled her hand away from her face, "No… No, not in the slightest. I was just… Caught off guard. That's all." Shepard gave him a look of skepticism, and he didn't blame her, but he wasn't lying. Of all the emotions their relationship had hurled at him, uncertainty was never one of them—or at least, not anymore at this point.

Her doubt fell from her face and was replaced with embarrassment. Her cheeks flushed as her hands fiddled with each other nervously. "Garrus, this whole thing kind of backfired into my face. I… I was trying to let you know how much you mean to me. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud, and I guess it's a stupid thought in general, but… You seem to be one of the few things I haven't fucked up in my life and, well, I want to keep it that way."

Garrus couldn't keep his mandibles from flickering in amusement at her sheepishness before he dipped his thumb into the tub of paint on the table. Using his other hand to tilt Shepard's head to the side, he began drawing over the lines to refine them. He did the same to the other side briskly, as if he'd been doing it his entire life. "There," he muttered, hands still cupping her face and grazing over the skin lightly, "Like a true Vakarian."

Shepard leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut with a softly contended sigh. He didn't let the silence settle, however, and withdrew his hands only to slip into hers. It felt so natural to him now, like their hands were made to fit so awkwardly and clumsily together. "Listen, Shepard," Her eyes opened slowly, bags and circles even more prominent than usual. "I… Don't know what the hell I'm doing. I haven't known that since the night before the Omega-4 Relay. But," He laughed nervously, growing more anxious with each word, "What I do know is that I'm with you until the end. No matter how many different kinds of hells you drag me through, I'm with you."

He expected her to say something back, most likely smothered in sarcasm, but there was nothing. And it wasn't until he was on the verge of begging her to say something—_anything_—that she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she wavered between laughter and sobs, a grin straining just behind her mess of hair.

"Shepard…" She shook her head to keep him from continuing. He was grateful she stopped him; he wasn't even sure what he was going to say to begin with.

He instinctively pushed her hair behind her ear when she looked up at him. "I'm fine, Garrus," she whispered, indulging herself in the warmth of his hand. "Don't worry yourself."

He pressed his forehead against hers, subvocals thrumming at the base of his throat. "Good," he murmured, "I'd hate for a perfectly good moment to be ruined." His mandibles flared in some form of a grin as he spoke, struggling to lighten the mood once again.

"Yes, that would be unfortunate, wouldn't it?" She linked her fingers behind his neck, exhaling softly at their close proximity. Garrus hummed for a brief moment before closing the gap between their mouths. She couldn't bite back a smile as his hands slid under her shirt to run around her waist, leaving faded blue stains along pale skin.


End file.
